


Red Wedding

by deleiterious



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Gore, Drama & Romance, F/M, Gen, Gun Violence, I MADE CLAUDE AN ESCORT AND I REGRET NOTHING, Light Angst, Smut, yes there's bedsharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleiterious/pseuds/deleiterious
Summary: In which Byleth is an assassin, and assassins don't have boyfriends. Still, she needs one for her next job. So she hires one.And he's trouble. A lot of trouble.---Part 1 of the Claudeleth Assassins trilogy.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 78
Kudos: 233





	1. Nice Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Byleth hires Claude to be her boyfriend. And he's surprisingly good at it.

"Assassins don't have boyfriends," Byleth says irritably. 

  
Seteth does not deign her objection with a response. He merely shuffles the papers on this desk, not even sparing her a glance, a preemptive sign of dismissal. 

  
"Saint," Byleth tries again, using his code name, "the last thing I need is a civilian holding me back on a mission this important."

  
Seteth's eyebrows lift as he takes a breath deeply through his nose. He clearly has some opinions on the matter, but as usual, he keeps it to himself. Instead, he says, "I'm afraid the Archbishop's requirements are clear. You are not permitted to attend this event alone. It's a wedding. Rather, it's the wedding of the decade. It's a lavish, two-day event for the rich and well-connected. You'll draw too much attention to yourself without a plus-one. Now, it really matter doesn't who you bring, so long as you eliminate your target."

  
Byleth stares at him unblinkingly, but he's too used to her and it does nothing to faze him. "Then why not allow me to bring--"

  
"Your colleagues have their own missions to attend to. Are you suggesting this mission's objective is too difficult for you to achieve alone?" The scolding tartness in his voice is evident.

  
Byleth bristles at the insinuation. She's racked up more solitary kills than anyone else in this damned Church, and everyone in this forsaken guild knows it.

  
Seteth raises an eyebrow at her silence. "Well, Demon?"

  
"Understood, Saint. Consider it done," Byleth responds brusquely. It's futile to argue. Byleth sweeps out of his office, shutting the door behind her a mite too forcefully. At the end of the hall, Byleth spots one of her deadliest colleagues, awaiting her turn for a mission briefing. 

  
"About damn time," Shamir says in her lazy drawl. Her face is flecked in blood, and so are her knives. She rises from her crouch at the end of the hallway. 

  
"Did your last one give you some trouble?" Byleth inquires.

  
"Oh, you know. Nothing I couldn't handle." A small, mirthless chuckle.

  
Byleth nods behind her, to Seteth's office. Shamir brushes past, and slips noiselessly into the office. "Later, Demon."

  
"Oh, you certainly look unhappy. I thought for sure you'd enjoy your next assignment." Flayn appears at the end of the hallway, holding a clipboard to her chest. Her long, thick hair is tied into a ponytail, so long that it easily reaches her hips. "It's the most challenging one on our roster right now."

  
"Hello, Sister."

  
Flayn smiles at the mention of her code name. "Do you need me to reassign it?" If there's anyone capable of handling the administrative difficulties of the Church, it's Flayn. She's always more than keen to be of help, since Seteth forbids her from doing anything on the field.

  
Byleth shakes her head. "No, that won't be necessary."

  
"Then why the long face?" Flayn asks. 

  
Byleth tries not to sigh. "I'm going to need to sort out a civilian plus-one for my cover."

  
Flayn suddenly looks eager, her green eyes rounding into impossibly large ovals. "Oh, a civilian date?" She sighs dreamily. "How romantic! Oh, this just like one of those movies!"

  
Byleth's expression remains passive and unmoved. "They'll just get in the way."

  
"Oh, I'd _kill_ for a chance to go on a date," Flayn whispers, to ensure her voice doesn't carry into Seteth's office. Byleth does not doubt the veracity of Flayn's statement, but is not moved by the young woman's earnest romanticism. 

  
"I need to get going, Sister."

  
"Wait!" Flayn briskly gestures to Byleth, pointing down the hallway to her own private office. "Let me help! Please?" Her doe-eyes surprisingly work on everyone in this guild.

  
Byleth wordlessly follows her into the office. Flayn drops the clipboard unceremoniously onto her desk and waves Byleth over to the computer. 

  
_Monastery: Premier Escort Service._ An eighteen-plus warning appears on the website. Flayn bypasses it with an impatient click.

  
Byleth's eyes widen. The expression is so brief, Flayn misses it entirely. An endless list of attractive faces appear on the screen. 

  
"What is this? Do you...use this, Sister?"

  
Flayn sighs dramatically, pressing both hands to her chest. "I wish!" She points to one with a shallow scar across his lip and a brooding expression on his face. "He's _gorgeous_ , isn't he?"

  
Byleth disagrees, but doesn't open her mouth. 

  
Flayn looks over her shoulder at Byleth, an impish smile dancing across her lips. "So? Anyone catch your eye?"

  
Byleth stares at the screen. There are dozens of pictures, and they all start to blur together as Flayn scrolls down. "Wait," she places a hand on Flayn's arm, "what's this for?"

  
Flayn matches Byleth's surprise with her own. "What? I'm finding you a date; isn't it obvious?"

  
"These people are escorts."

  
"All the better," Flayn replies without missing a beat. "This particular agency has been vetted by the organization already. It's not like you'll be the first one to use them, so don't look so shocked." Flayn hums to herself, starting to filter through the options by popularity. Flayn squints at Byleth, inspecting her up and down before turning back to the computer.

  
"What was that?"

  
"What was what?" Flayn asks innocently. She pulls up a few profiles, gesturing to her work proudly. 

  
"I think he would suit you very well. You two would look very good together at the wedding. He's classically handsome. Blond...and look at those gorgeous blue eyes!" Flayn leans forward, eyes narrowing at the profile photo. "Oh, and he's got a scar near his eye. That definitely adds some character." Byleth starts to get the feeling that Flayn has a thing for scars. Byleth doesn't even react to the photo. "No?" Flayn asks. 

  
"I suppose he'll do," she says with absolutely no enthusiasm. 

  
Flayn frowns, unsatisfied by her reaction, or lack thereof. "No, we're not going to be hasty here. I have a few more choices." She clicks onto the next profile. 

  
A dark-haired, hazel-eyed man with a scowl. He looks just as unenthusiastic as she feels. Maybe they could go to the wedding unenthusiastically together. 

  
"He's not my favorite, I'll admit, but he matches your energy. He doesn't specialize in weddings, though." Flayn points to the expertise area on the profile. 

  
Byleth shrugs. "He'll do."

  
Flayn's expression flattens. "Nope, he's not the one. I can sense it." Byleth opens her mouth to object, but Flayn clicks on the next one. "Third time's the charm! What about him?"

  
Sharp, green eyes and a lazy smirk. A mess of dark brown hair. If she wanted all eyes on her during the wedding, this would be the man to do it. It's far better to go with someone less noticeable. 

  
Byleth's mouth twitches. "Oh, definitely not."

  
Flayn glances up, surprised. "But he's cute!"

  
"He's trouble. That's what he is."

  
"Oh, I like the sound of that. Trouble's just what you need." 

  
Byleth's eyes narrow at the photo; a faint look of apprehension on her face. Flayn's lips slowly curve into a smile. Finally, a reaction. She clicks on the "Book Now" button before Byleth can stop her.

  
"Wait!"

  
Flayn's smile widens at her obvious agitation. "Too late!" Flayn says cheerfully. "Already booked and paid for by Church funds. You know how much more work it'll take me to submit a withdrawal request. You wouldn't do that to your dear little Sister, would you?"

  
Byleth brings a hand to her face, a knot of consternation apparent on her forehead. 

  
"Anything else I can help you with?"

  
"I think I'll be going now."

  
Flayn waves as Byleth takes her leave, winking. "Enjoy the wedding!"

* * *

  
"I heard the Demon has a date," laughs Catherine, blue eyes sparkling through protective goggles. "That's a first."

  
Byleth turns to her, firing into the target without even looking at it. "Not by choice, I assure you." When she turns back to it, there's a perfect trio of bullet holes around the center of the target. 

  
Catherine shakes her head. "Wouldn't kill you to have a life outside of work, you know."

  
Byleth arches a brow at her. "Look who's talking."

  
Catherine takes position, firing effortlessly into the targets in front of them. Catherine does not use her bullets sparingly. She enjoys emptying her cartridge into a single target, and is infamous for her quick reload times. Byleth finds it too wasteful.

  
"I don't know what she told you," begins Byleth when silence returns to the shooting range. "It's just for the cover."

  
Catherine gives her a one-shouldered shrug. "Make sure it stays that way," she says, all teasing gone from her voice. Catherine reloads her gun, her fingers moving with practiced deftness.

  
Byleth doesn't respond. 

* * *

  
Byleth draws her long overcoat around her, the soles of her boots echoing through the empty alleyway. She barely feels the knives strapped to her thighs as she approaches the drop zone. The dim streetlight behind her flickers weakly, casting a ghastly orange pallor over the alley. 

  
She finds the package beneath the dumpster, as promised. She pulls it free and carries it out of the alley. It's filled with her best weapons and Church-issue clothes, every aspect of its contents tailored for her assignment.

  
She gets in the car, sets the package down, and drives for Enbarr.

  
It's faster to get there by plane, but Byleth prefers the solitary peace of driving for her missions. There aren't as many close-up witnesses, and she can avoid the banality of small talk. She pulls up to the enormous hotel parking lot hours before dawn. She waves away the valet and parks herself in one of the hotel's surveillance blind-spots. 

  
Thousands of the world's most influential and famous have been invited to this wedding. Multiple five-star hotels are completely booked for miles. Not for the first time, Byleth is grateful for people at the Church like Flayn, doing all the research and preparation necessary to make her job as simple as possible. Byleth unlocks the briefcase with her fingerprint, pockets a few bugs and surveillance cameras and then shuts it with a click. She cases the hotel casually, like she's done hundreds of times over the years. She sets up surveillance at the entrance of the hotel and on the floor where her target's hotel room is located. Although she would like to set up equipment at the wedding itself, security will be too tight. She will simply have to keep a close eye on her target's activities at the wedding the old-fashioned way.

  
Thales has escaped the Church's clutches for years. Byleth has no personal qualms with the well-connected mobster, but the Archbishop has wanted him dead for almost as long as she's been in service to the Church. He's never made a public appearance that she knows of. It's certainly strange, but the Black Eagle's richest heiress and her impending marriage appear to be the reason he's been drawn out of hiding. They won't be getting another chance like this again soon, so she needs to make it count. Byleth heads back to her car, settling in for a brief nap before the sun rises.

* * *

  
Byleth changes into something more fitting of her cover persona before she meets with her escort. She pulls up her dark hair into a messy bun, clipping it place with a few pins. A few wisps of hair frame her heart-faced face. She experimentally smiles into the mirror, though the warmth in her expression feels contrived. She adjusts the pale pink dress, tying the small sash in front to try to cover for the plunging neckline. She pulls out a pair of expensive, brand-name sunglasses and props them on top of her head. She hides her weapons and equipment in the false back of her suitcase. She arranges a tube of mascara in the car's cup holder and a few non-fiction novels in the back seat. 

  
In minutes, she's as ordinary-looking as her cover.

  
She's no longer Byleth the assassin. She's Byleth Reus, distinguished department head of game theory at Garreg Mach University, the top university in the country. It's the same university that Edelgard von Hresvelg, the Black Eagle heiress, graduated from. Byleth briefly checks her phone, to confirm that the bugs and cameras she's planted are still transmitting to her device. 

  
Just on time, there's a knock on her tinted window. She rolls down the passenger side window, her mood taking a dip at arrival of company.

  
"Are you Byleth?"

  
Her escort is leaning casually on her car, flashing her a smile. _He's fucking hot_ , Byleth realizes with a surge of frustration. She wonders if it's the glare of the sun against his dark skin, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. Briefly, Byleth considers saying no, getting rid of him, and going to the wedding solo after all. He's already been paid for and there would be no reason for him to object. 

  
He arches a brow. She's been staring at him with a frown on her face since she let down the window. 

  
"Yes, that's me," she finally responds, pushing open the door to let him in. 

  
He climbs in, extending a hand to her. "A pleasure. I'm Claude." He's dressed in dark slacks and button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. There's a piercing in one ear, but not the other, and it suits him.

  
She tentatively takes his hand. They both pause before they release each other's hands. Byleth deliberately keeps her eyes on his face, but she swears she felt some unusual callouses on his hand. 

  
"First time?" he asks with a grin. 

  
"That obvious?" she replies, blushing but not for the reason he thinks.

  
"How about we talk ground rules?" he suggests breezily, throwing his hands behind his head. His arms are muscular and Byleth slides her eyes back to the wheel. 

  
"Okay," she replies. 

  
"No biting and no scratching. Blemishes don't pay. Everything else is fair game." 

  
A look of confusion crosses her face. Claude studies her expression curiously. She shifts uncomfortably beneath his gaze. "Okay," she says.

  
"Okay?" he echoes playfully. "You're not very talkative for a professor, are you?"

  
Byleth takes a breath, remembering herself. "I'm just nervous," she lies. "I have a few ground rules of my own."

  
"Shoot." 

  
Byleth's lips curl into a smile. _You'd be dead if I did._ "I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for the duration of the wedding, only in public, not in private. That's it."

  
"That won't be hard." He tilts his head, trying to charm her with another smile. "Are you trying to make someone jealous?"

  
Byleth snorts. "I don't have anyone to make jealous."

  
"I find that surprising."

  
Byleth tries not to look calculating at his response. "Why do you say that?"

  
Claude grins, propping his chin on his hand. "Because, look at you. You're stunning. There really isn't anyone?"

  
Byleth suppresses a roll of the eyes. _Flattery will get you nowhere, Claude. This act must work on hundreds of women._ She tries to look flustered by his attention instead. "I spend too much time working to really do the dating thing."

  
"I get that," he says softly, and Byleth has to force herself not to feel special at the way he's looking at her. _Don't forget; you're both working. Stay focused._

  
"Also, no sex," she tells him, "and no prying questions, but everything is fair game."

  
Claude grins. "What counts as a prying question, Teach?"

  
Byleth frowns at the nickname. "Please don't call me that."

  
"What? Teach? Aw, but pet names are incredibly romantic. Don't you know that?" He leans forward, breath ghosting over her cheek. Byleth stiffens at the proximity, holding herself back from pulling the knife from her thigh and giving that handsome face a good stab.

  
She gently pushes him back. "Fine, use it if you like. We should check into the hotel."

  
Claude chuckles and takes her suitcase like a gentleman. He grabs his messenger bag from the roof of the vehicle and throws it over his shoulder. Claude offers her his hand as they step away from the car. She stares at it a beat too long before allowing him to hold her hand. He swings it idly as they approach the hotel entrance.

  
They certainly look like a couple now, and she feels a surge of relief as she sees pairs of guests milling around the hotel lobby. Their public displays of affection make her uncomfortable. She can't believe Seteth was right about needing a plus-one. She would have seemed so out of place here. She checks in under her alias with practiced ease. 

  
"Please let us know if there's anything you might need during your stay here," the receptionist says with perhaps a touch too much eagerness. The woman at the counter flutters her eyelashes at Claude, and Byleth resists the urge to roll her eyes again. "Do you want me to get you a bellhop for your luggage?"

  
_Flayn, this is all your fault. I should have gone for bland and boring._

  
"Thanks, but we got it." Claude's mega-watt smile leaves the poor woman at the counter speechless, and he gently guides Byleth toward the elevators with a hand on the small of her back. 

  
"Do you have to do that?" Byleth whispers as they enter the elevator. 

  
Claude smirks, leaning against the railing. "Do what?"

  
Byleth sighs. "Never mind."

  
"Are you jealous, Teach?"

  
Byleth hasn't even spent an hour with him yet, and her patience is already wearing thin. The elevator opens on floor fourty-one, one floor above Thales. Claude holds the doors open as she exits. Although their room is on the opposite side, she's close to the emergency stairs. It'll make it easy to hide from Thales' own security detail while staying close to him. 

  
Claude opens the door with their key card, and whistles when he sees the suite. There's a balcony with a small pool outside. The bed is enormous with shiny, silk sheets, fluffy down pillows, and an ornate, golden headboard. The marble bathroom itself is bigger than her entire apartment. 

  
"How much do you make, Teach?" The view from the room is breathtaking. There's an unimpeded view of the lake below them. It's a cloudless day, and Byleth spies snow-topped mountains in the distance. 

  
"Tenured professors make a lot of money," she says by way of explanation. In reality, her true profession makes her more money than she knows what to do with.

  
Claude still looks dubious, but refrains from shining any more attention on it. She slides the door of the balcony open, letting in the warm morning breeze. Claude suddenly pulls out his phone, gently tugging her to his side. "Want to take a picture together?"

  
"Why?" 

  
Claude pulls her in closer. "I saw your phone background. A university clock tower, really? That's so boring. I should be your background photo, at least for the wedding; don't you think?"

  
"Fine."

  
Claude raises the phone in front of them. Byleth tilts her head and puts on her her most practiced smile. Just before she hears the click of the camera, Claude kisses her on the cheek. She can feel his long eyelashes brushing against her skin. Claude's lips twitch when he looks at the photo. The expression on her face is a half-smile, half-surprised look. The way he's kissing her, she has to admit it's incredibly convincing to the untrained eye. She's fondly reminded of her last kiss: a target she killed as soon her lips distracted him.

  
"Here, I'll send it to you." Her phone buzzes a moment later, and she dutifully sets it as her screen photo. She looks at it a moment longer before putting it away in her dress pocket.

  
"Don't you need it for your phone too?" 

  
Claude smirks, green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Nah, I already got a cute one." On his phone, it's a photo of her looking down at their intertwined hands on their way to the hotel entrance. Her expression is uncharacteristically soft. Byleth feels unsettled that he could have taken that without her noticing.

  
"You're pretty good at this."

  
"You think so?" He appears to perk up at her praise.

  
Byleth doesn't elaborate. She kicks off her heels, and dips her feet into the cool water of their private pool. She gazes out at the view. Tonight, the festivities begin, and she'll need to stay on her toes to monitor Thales' movements at the wedding venue.

  
"So, what's your relationship with the bride-to-be?" Claude sits down beside her, but doesn't join her in the pool. 

  
Byleth shoots him a look. "I thought I told you no prying questions."

  
"You never specified what counts as prying and what doesn't."

  
Byleth looks pensively down at the image of her feet distorted by the pool. Her toenails are unpainted. 

  
"C'mon, Teach, don't be so mysterious."

  
"A lot of us from the university are going. Edelgard's one of the most famous students to have graduated from where I teach." She's certainly not lying. There are other professors and ex-students at this event. "There's a dinner we'll need to be at tonight, but you're free to do as you please until then." 

  
Claude stands up, stretching. His shirt lifts, gracing her with a view of his abs. Byleth quickly draws her gaze back to the water. It's not as if she hasn't seen a body like his before. She's kissed and fooled around with plenty of targets in order to do her job, and a lot of them had physiques like him.

  
She could enjoy him if she wanted to. It's not as if she'll have to kill him afterward, and he'd at least pretend to have fun with it. But she's already closed that door. 

  
_No sex, Byleth. You're not here to have fun. You're here to kill Thales and report to the Church._

  
"Do you want me to help you unpack?"

  
Byleth tries to sound casual. "No, thank you."

  
Claude gives her another lazy smile and treads inside, closing the balcony door behind him. With him successfully out of her hair, Byleth pulls out her phone. She pauses momentarily at her phone's background, at their staged kiss, but quickly unlocks the device and pulls up the apps that show her surveillance footage. She's not entirely sure when Thales will be due to arrive, but given the dinner tonight is the first major event, he'll probably be there, although they will likely not be seated nearby each other. He might not even be in the same room as her tonight. As she examines the video feed, she notices that hallway of the floor below them is empty. 

  
_It's possible he bought out the entire floor for privacy._

  
She opens another app and sends an encoded check-in message to the Church. She tucks it back into her pocket, and steps out of the pool. She dries off her feet with the provided towel, and pads into the suite. Claude is nowhere to be seen. _Maybe he went down to get breakfast. Although, he could have just ordered room service._

  
Byleth unlocks her suitcase to pull out toiletries, pajamas, and a change of clothes for the evening before locking it back up. Having stayed up all night, and likely to do so again, she thinks about taking a long nap. She slips nimbly out of her dress and pulls on a large, black Garreg Mach University t-shirt with the words "Faculty" on the back and a pair of plaid shorts. It's a little on the nose, but she supposes if her cover identity is so married to the idea of work, it makes sense to have. She checks the room again, and seeing it empty, pulls the knives from her thigh and slip them around her upper arms, hidden by the baggy sleeves of her shirt.

  
She sidles into bed, releasing a soft sigh of pleasure as the silken comforter hugs her to the mattress. Sometimes, missions require her to sleep on the ground, on a roof, or in some dusty, abandoned warehouse infested with rats. She's grateful for the little conveniences of this particular mission.

  
Not long after she allows herself to drift off, Byleth hears the turning of a doorknob. She's instantly alert, but pretends to lay sleeping. Her eye cracks open toward the sound. From her position on the bed, she doesn't see anyone until they're nearly beside her. 

  
It's Claude, and he's half naked. _He must have been showering, which means he never left. How did I not notice that? Am I slipping?_

  
His hair is wet, water droplets racing down his back and out of view. He pushes it back out of his face, but a tendril of hair clings to his forehead. He grabs his phone from the table, a lightning-quick smile appearing on his face before he unlocks it. 

  
Byleth shifts, forcefully pulling her gaze away. She tries to go back to sleep, but it's impossible. She can't when people are around her; it puts her body on high-alert out of habit. Byleth grumpily opens her eyes, and sits up. 

  
A damp t-shirt clings to Claude's skin, leaving not enough to the imagination, but he's at least clothed. He's sitting at the desk across the suite, tapping something into his phone.

  
"Tired of me already?" he quips, smiling at her.

  
"It was a long drive," she says. She picks up her phone and looks at the time. It's going to be hours before she even needs to think about getting ready for the evening. "Do you have a girlfriend?" she finds herself asking him before she can stop herself. 

  
"Yeah," that smirk she hates appears on his face again, "you."

  
_How many people fall for this, honestly?_

  
"I'm serious," she insists.

  
Claude puts the phone away, giving her his undivided attention. "I know. That's your serious face. Testing me before the wedding?"

  
Byleth adjusts her hair, which has tumbled out of its bun during her attempt at a nap. "No, I'm just curious. You're really convincing when you want to be."

  
"Comes with the job." He studies one of the books he picked up from her car. "No, I don't have a girlfriend. Things would get too messy."

  
Byleth gives up on the bun, yanking the pins out of her hair and setting them on the nightstand. Her hair drapes down across her shoulders in waves. She plops back down into the bed with a sigh, scrolling through the news on her phone. When she glances at him, he appears to be reading the book he picked up. "You like game theory?"

  
"Huge fan," he says in that lilting tone that makes it difficult to tell whether he's being sincere or not.

  
He spends the next few hours poring through her book. When he's reading, he seems like a different person. 

  
Byleth gives up on sleep, but she does close her eyes to rest them. 

* * *

  
"Will you need help getting changed?" 

  
_Ever the flirt._

  
Byleth clutches the dress she's picked out of her luggage to her chest. "No, thank you. I can dress myself."

  
"Suit yourself," he says with an unaffected shrug as he pulls off his shirt. 

  
Byleth makes a beeline for the bathroom before she can see more, locking it behind her. The marble floor is blissfully cool on her feet. There's still water on the panes of glass of the shower, but the large round bath has been undisturbed. Byleth stares at herself in the mirror, looking strangely vulnerable and small in her pajamas. She sighs.

  
_This would be much easier alone. Much, much easier._

  
She pulls off her pajamas, tossing them onto the wide counter that goes from one side of the bathroom to the other. It's arranged with a multitude of bath products and brand-name toilteries that she surmises she should at least pretend to be interested in. She experimentally opens a bottle of shampoo to sniff it, but grimaces and immediately sets it back down. It's too heavily perfumed.

  
She carefully places her knives onto the counter, where they meet the marble with a soft click. Byleth smooths the dress down, examining it for its secret pockets. All Church-issue clothes come with places to put weapons, even the tight, little numbers like this. The dress itself is a brilliant emerald green with a bandeau top and a long asymmetrical drape. Byleth realizes with a start it's the same color as Claude's eyes. 

  
Byleth teases apart the fabric along the seams, inserting in one of her knives. When she smooths it down, it's almost perfectly flat. Byleth smiles as she hides the other knives, leaving one strapped to her upper thigh. She effortlessly slips the dress on, zipping it closed. The dress covers most of one of her legs, but the other is scandalously exposed, to the very top of her thigh. Normally, she wouldn't wear something like unless she wanted to draw attention to herself, but if they sent her something like this, it must be because everyone else will be in outfits that will significantly outdo hers. 

  
Satisfied, she opens the door to grab her make-up bag. Claude isn't facing her when she steps out. He's sitting on the bed, looking at his phone. She noiselessly grabs the bag and retreats to the bathroom. She expertly applies blush, mascara, and a bright pop of color on her lips and pulls her hair into an asymmetrical bun to accentuate the dress. Byleth checks the surveillance footage again, noting with a smile that her target seems to still be in his room by the look of bodyguards lined up and down the hall. That will certainly give her time to case the dinner venue before he gets there. She slips her phone into the space between her breasts, checking one last time to ensure that all her knives are hidden from sight. One stray glance at them will reveal exactly what kind of lady she is.

  
"That was quick," Claude notes as she steps out of the bathroom and picks up a little black purse from her suitcase. He's dressed neatly in a tailored suit. The cut of it does not hide his muscles at all. He eyes her appreciatively and Byleth tries not to feel flattered. 

  
_He does this for work. He's supposed to make you feel special. Don't be so easy to go along with it._

  
"I'm efficient," she replies. "Are you ready to go?" Outside, it's already dark. She grabs her keys from the nightstand and drops them into her purse.

  
"You're driving?" 

  
Byleth tries to play it off as civilian as she can. There's a gun in her car. It's not like she can pull her guns out of the suitcase right now with him in the room. "We can't all hire limos to shuttle us around. I don't plan to be drinking much, if at all."

  
Claude shrugs. "If you want to drink, go ahead. I probably won't and I can drive us back."

  
Byleth never drinks enough to feel it on a job, but she makes a sound in her throat to pretend she's considering it. She puts on her heels, gliding her fingertips along the back of the heel to feel for the hidden blade within each stiletto before she straps them on.

  
He offers her his arm. When the reach the lobby together, it's completely crowded in guests, dressed to the nines. Her dress pales in comparison to the gowns she sees in the lobby itself. She can't imagine what it might look like at the actual dinner. 

  
Claude pulls her closer as they make their way through the crowded entrance, keeping a hand firmly on her waist. Many pairs of eyes follow Claude covetously as he parts the crowd for her. 

  
He smiles into her hair, speaking so close to her ear that she feels a shiver run down her spine. "See that? They can't take their eyes off you." He tenderly trails a finger down her neck, and Byleth's jaw tenses. 

  
Byleth takes a look at the crowd again, and he's right. Some of those eyes are watching her, and she feels a touch of confidence at the realization. "You mean, they can't take their eyes off _you_ ," she retorts quietly, pulling his tie down a fraction to bring her closer to her lips.

  
"We must make quite the pair," he chuckles. They finally break out of the suffocating mass, and he holds her hand steady and she attempts the stairs in her stilettos. She doesn't need his help, of course, but her cover probably does. The night is warm, and a little humid. When she reaches the car, she turns to Claude in an outward display of panic. 

  
"I forgot my wallet," she says with a wide-eyed look. "It's still in the room; I think I left it on the nightstand."

  
Claude gives her a swift peck on the cheek, which she finds unnecessary but she figures he's doing it because of all the people in the parking lot. "I'll go get it for you, Byleth." His expression is surprisingly affectionate. He turns on his heel and a smile curves her lips at his retreating form.

  
When she sees him enter the hotel, she quickly opens the door to her car, and slips a compact pistol from its location underneath the passenger seat. She weighs it in her palm, thinking. Security is going to be tight tonight, and she's almost certain they will have metal detectors. But this Church-issue pistol shouldn't set off any alarms. Still, there's always a little risk. She slips it beside her phone, nestled between her breasts. Most days she curses whatever deity foisted such large breasts on her, but on days like this, she's grateful she has so much space to conceal her things. 

  
She arranges herself to look like she's been waiting, leaning against the front door of her car when he returns, waving her leather wallet victoriously. 

  
_You're too easy to fool, Claude,_ she thinks a little sadly. Maybe if he'd been her colleague, but she breaks off the train of thought before she can finish it.

* * *

  
The sensors at the entrance of the dinner venue, a large historical landmark surrounded by gorgeous, well-manicured gardens, do not go off at all when she bypasses them. They're utterly surrounded in splendor. Most of the gowns and suits here are made by world-famous designers. They go in without incident, and the worst part of the dinner party begins.

  
Mingling.

  
If Byleth hadn't been bracing herself for it all day, she would have been blindsided by the full extent of Claude's charm. He makes easy conversation with a majority of guests that come up to them. Many simply want to gossip about the bride-to-be, and to brandish whatever social capital got them invited in the first place. Whenever anyone compliments her, Claude looks at her with such open affection and pride that she almost wants to believe he has feelings for her. 

  
Byleth, despite herself, tunes out, her eyes surveying the guests for her target. It's been an entire hour, and she still hasn't seen him come into the main hall. She wonders if he must be keeping to himself despite his appearance here. There's security posted everywhere, except near the bathrooms.

  
The carefully layered lies start to bother her. She has to do this for another day and night, at least, before she's allowed to find and eliminate Thales. She excuses herself for a moment to use the restroom, but Claude doesn't let her go without kissing the back of her hand first.

  
Byleth doesn't go to the restroom. Instead, she starts ascending the stairs, her eyes trained on all the pockets of people stationed in shadowed corners of the large multi-story hall. She doesn't see Thales, but when she almost reaches the top floor, she does notice a heavily-patrolled area just out of sight. Unlike the security hired by Black Eagle, there's a certain look to these people that makes her skin crawl.

  
There's no way she'll be able to reach him here, armed with little more than a pistol and some knives. But now she's confirmed with her own eyes that he must be here. She quickly makes her way back to Claude before too much time has passed.

  
She sees Claude before he sees her. He's holding a glass of champagne and laughing at something a lovely green-eyed, brown-haired woman is telling him. Her gown is red with black lace, showing off her pale shoulders and an ample bosom. She looks like she belongs here, whereas Byleth knows she does not.

  
Byleth pauses when she sees the woman step closer to him and run a hand along the sleeve of his suit jacket. She's not sure what it is in the back of her throat, but it doesn't feel nice. Byleth is almost embarrassed for herself for feeling anything. He's a hired escort. He's putting on a show, and she's not there; of course, it's fine if a woman touches him. Plenty of them probably have. She turns around and follows one of the waiters, tapping them on the shoulder to ask for a glass of wine. She sips on her glass, milling around to survey the guests. 

  
"There you are."

  
Byleth almost chokes on the wine in her mouth when she recognizes the voice. 

  
"I thought you weren't planning to drink tonight. Did something change your mind?" Claude wraps a hand around her waist, kissing her forehead.

  
Byleth collects herself and points at his champagne. "I said I might have a little, remember? I thought you said you wouldn't drink."

  
"I got this for you," he says simply, and whatever Byleth felt when she saw him laughing with that woman comes back again. "Do you want it, or shall I toss it?"

  
Byleth frowns. "That's wasteful."

  
Claude chuckles, gesturing to the garish display all around them. "And this isn't?"

  
"Aren't you used to this sort of thing?" she asks, letting him hold her hand and guide them toward the dining hall.

  
"In a manner of speaking," he answers.

  
_What a cryptic answer._

  
The rest of the evening passes as Byleth expects it to. Gradually, the guests around her begin to exhibit signs of inebriation, and their merriment adds to the ambiance of the night. During the dinner, which takes up multiple halls, Edelgard gives a speech warmly welcoming everyone to her matrimonial festivities. Not being part of the family circle, Byleth is not seated in that same hall, but she hears about it after the dinner, although most of the chatter seems to be about what Edelgard was seen wearing. Claude remains by her side throughout the evening, and they make light conversation as they stroll through the outdoor gardens. The gardens are lit with strands of lights that glimmer like stars against the black of the night sky. Claude seems particularly charmed by them. Byleth finds herself watching him whenever he tilts his face up toward the sky, his eyes reflecting the lights.

  
"The event's ending soon," Claude begins, glancing over at her. "Do you want to leave soon, or are we going to be that rowdy couple that needs to get thrown out?"

  
Byleth doesn't like the little grin on his mouth when he asks her that question. Byleth glances behind her, back toward the main building. "No, we can leave soon."

  
Byleth hasn't seen hair or hide of anyone one of those supcicious characters break away from their post. She wonders if they're still there. Byleth excuses herself to use the restroom. "I'll meet you at the car."

  
She enters the main building again, but this time, all the units posted in that area are gone. 

  
_They must have moved Thales back to the hotel already._

  
Byleth follows a small line of women to the restroom, among them a very drunk looking redhead who laughs and giggles with anyone who will let her near them. Byleth ignores her, but many of the other women in line sniff and leave the line. Byleth wraps up her time in the restroom quickly, and is drying her hands when the redhead stumbles out of a stall behind her. She leans heavily against the sink, and for a moment, Byleth wonders if she's going to throw up in it. 

  
The woman hiccups, and slowly looks up at the mirror. Byleth briefly makes eye contact with her, but doesn't return the smile. Byleth leaves the restroom without looking back. As she's cutting through the gardens to reach her car parked on the opposite side of the grounds, Byleth notices she's one of very few people left at the venue. Most of the lights have been taken down or turned off, leaving the garden heavy with emptiness. Her heels echo loudly against the garden grounds, although there's no one around to hear it now. 

  
Byleth hears it before she feels it. A blade slicing the night air. It's meant for her neck but she twists and it grazes her shoulder, spraying droplets of blood against her face. Byleth pulls out her own knife, dark eyes widening as she takes in the empty space around her. A figure emerges from behind one of the oak trees to her right.

  
Byleth doesn't hesitate. She throws her knife ahead of her and follows it to its target. The figure dodges with ease, and the knife lodges into the tree trunk. Byleth slashes forward, the knife in her hand glinting in the air but the figure deflects. Byleth rapidly puts space between them again.

  
"I knew there was something different about you. I was right to keep my suspicions to myself. My boss is going to be so surprised when I bring him your head." It's a woman's voice, high-pitched and perky.

  
Byleth pulls out her gun, but before she can fire, the woman kicks it out of her grasp. 

  
"Oh, that's cheating, isn't it? Shouldn't we settle this the old-fashioned way?" she drawls, and in the darkness, Byleth recognizes her silhouette. It's the redhead from the bathroom.

  
She doesn't deign her opponent with a response, and sweeps their leg out from under them. She falls hard to the ground, a growl in her throat. "Fine, if you're in such a hurry to die, I have no choice but to oblige." The redhead jumps to her feet, pulling out a long blade, much larger the ones Byleth is able to conceal on herself. 

  
_That means all of Thales' people are armed to the teeth regardless of whether they are at this wedding or not. How can Edelgard's people not catch this? Unless, they're exempt? Why?_

  
Byleth dodges the redhead's maneuvers easily. Despite catching her off-guard, this woman is not nearly as experienced as she is. Byleth twists them both to the ground. A long, pale arm shoots up, closing around Byleth's throat. Byleth gasps for air, but is able to bring her leg down on her opponent's wrist. There's a sickening crunch as it breaks beneath the force of her foot, and the redhead screams, releasing her throat.

  
Byleth whips another blade from her thigh and plunges it into the redhead's chest, twisting it for the kill. The scream stutters into a quiet, wet gasp and then she's gone. Byleth quickly wipes the blood off on the redhead, and tucks the blade back into its hidden sheath. She palms the redhead's clothes, and feels more weapons on her, but nothing else: no phone, no wires. Byleth casts a glance around her, but it's so empty their tussle must not have alerted anyone. Byleth retrieves her other knife and unused gun, hiding them away and staring at the body on the floor. Blood is quickly pooling beneath the body. 

  
If she leaves no evidence, they won't know who did it. But Thales will certainly be concerned one of his own was killed. It'll be clear to him that an assassin is on the premises and after him. He'll be on high alert from this moment forward.

  
Byleth does one last sweep of the scene, ensuring nothing, not even a strand of hair, gets left behind and then disappears into the dark.

* * *

  
Byleth wipes the blood from her cheek and uses a handkerchief in her purse to daub at the blood that oozes from her shoulder. She hopes it's dark enough out that Claude won't notice the cut until she gets into her car. She has a jacket in there and it should be easy to hide once she puts it on.

  
"Took you long enough, Teach." Claude is leaning up against the car.

  
"It's hard to use the restroom in a dress like this," she replies easily. She plucks the keys from her purse. "Shall we?"

  
Claude gives her a long look, but slips into the passenger seat without another word. She opens the back seat and picks up the light jacket draped back there.

  
"Kind of warm out, isn't it?" Claude arches a brow at her.

  
"Says the person wearing a jacket already," she replies. "I'm walking around with half my ass out."

  
Claude laughs. "It's a nice ass." Byleth grimaces at him, and he has the gall to wink at her. "If you didn't want me looking, you probably should have put it in the ground rules."

  
She turns on the shower, but doesn't get into it. She pulls out her phone, immediately sending off an encoded message about the attack. It won't change her mission, but she'll need the Church to be on stand-by. She checks the surveillance footage. They're probably reporting her absence, or death, depending on whether they found her body yet. 

  
Byleth thumbs to the local news, but there's no mention of a homicide. She pulls out the blood-stained knife, turning it to inspect it under the bright lights of the bathroom. It's stained to the hilt. She peels off her dress, studying the cut on her shoulder in the mirror. It's mercifully shallow, but it's noticeable. She'll need to make sure it's hidden tomorrow for the wedding. She brings the knife with her into the shower to wash, flinching when the warm water hits her lacerated shoulder.

  
When she steps out, she towels off her hair and body before mechanically pulling on her black, baggy t-shirt. She wraps her weapons and all the evidence of tonight's kill into her ruined green dress, balling it up and balancing her heels on top of the bundle. She keeps her smallest knife strapped to her upper arm. She never goes to bed unarmed.

  
She looks up into the mirror. Byleth's face is blank, her dark eyes remorseless. This is what she looks like every time she kills someone. She wonders what it must be like to die looking at such a face.

  
_This is precisely why I should be on this mission solo. This pretending is starting to be more work than it's worth._

  
After Claude's turn in the bathroom, they ready for bed. Claude graciously offers to take the couch if she's not comfortable with him sharing, but she simply shrugs. "It's a big bed," she says, and that settles that.

  
It really is a big bed. Even if she outstretches her arm, she can't reach him from her side of the bed. It gives them both plenty of space. Byleth closes her eyes, but doesn't sleep. Part of her knows she'll need it, if she wants to be in peak condition tomorrow. But there's another part of her that feels alien sharing this bed with someone who is neither a mark nor colleague. 

  
In the case of the former, she usually kills them by now. In the case of the latter, she doesn't have to hide anything. Claude sits in this strange middle ground that she isn't familiar with. 

  
_One more day, and this will be all over._

  
Byleth stares at the wall for what must be hours before she drifts off. 

  
Byleth feels something brush her, yanking her out of her sleep. She glances at the wall, and she's a little further from it than she was when she fell asleep. Her side of the bed is otherwise undisturbed. But she could have sworn something brushed against her. 

  
She cranes over her shoulder to see if might be on her other side. Claude is sleeping right beside her, one of his arms tucked beneath his head. She peeks over his sleeping form, and of course, there's plenty of space on his other side. Byleth's mouth slants down in distaste and she moves to scoot back to her end of the bed when Claude's other arm flops to rest on her hip.

  
Her eyes flicker to his hand. She can feel the callouses again. Curious, she runs a finger along his thumb. Something is familiar about it. His hand twitches and she retracts her own. Byleth lays back down, wondering if she should maybe wake him and tell him to stay on his own damn side. She closes her eyes, thinking better of it. 

  
_Maybe he'll just move back on his own eventually._

  
With a jerk, Byleth realizes Claude's hand is moving. 

  
Up her shirt.

  
"Hey!" she hisses, turning over and throwing his hand off her.

  
Cluade's eyes flutter open. They look drowsy with sleep. "Hey," he replies, voice low and husky. 

  
"You're in my space," Byleth whispers at him irritably. 

  
"Why're you so grumpy, Teach?" The lazy grin coupled with his sleep-drenched voice send a shiver up her spine. His eyelids slip closed and his arm wraps around her, pulling her against his chest.

  
Byleth groans. He feels _so good_. His embrace is so invitingly warm, and she can feel the hard planes of his chest against her back through her thin t-shirt. 

  
_Fuck, he smells nice._

  
Byleth tries to extricate herself, trying to turn and slip under his arms without shoving him away and waking him. But when she twists, her ass brushes up against his groin and Claude moans quietly, freezing Byleth in place. For a moment, Byleth hopes he won't wake, but of course he does. Claude's eyes flicker open, and they're dark and hungry with want. "So you want to play, Byleth?" he whispers, hands pulling her hips flush against his. He's stronger than she expects, holding her firmly against him.

  
She stifles a moan of pleasure as his hands start to travel up her abdomen. Everywhere he touches, she feels hot and flushed. She can feel his desire against her leg. It sends a pool of heat from her chest to her core. 

  
_This sleepy, horny bastard._

  
She brings a hand up to push him away, but she ends up pulling him closer until they're practically nose to nose. She might kiss him. She wants to, but she knows it's not wise. He holds himself very still, his soft breath ghosting over her cheek. 

  
Byleth kisses him, parting her mouth in a gasp when he sucks on her lip. His mouth smiles against hers, and his hands begin to palm her breasts. She can't help the embarrassing noise she makes when his thumb flicks her nipple. 

  
He starts to kiss her neck, and Byleth arches into him, enjoying the attention. He touches her slowly, languidly, and it drives her mad with yearning. Byleth already feels herself getting wet, and it gets worse whenever the hard press of his cock grazes her legs.

  
"Fuck," she moans, finally rolling on top of him. She straddles him between her thighs, grinding herself against his pants. 

  
Claude's hands dig into her hips, so hard she wonders if they'll leave marks. She slows down, enjoying the way he throws his head back with a mindless groan when he can feel how wet she is through her panties and practically non-existent pajama shorts. He experimentally slips a finger into the waistband of her panties and she lets him. 

  
She wants this so badly, and it suddenly doesn't matter that they're both here because of work, because he clearly wants her too. 

  
"Claude, kiss me."

  
He lifts his head to hers obediently, his free hand trailing fingers down her neck to her shoulder.

  
Byleth realizes with fright that he might feel the knife on her arm if he keeps going. She pulls away suddenly, letting him fall back on the bed with a puzzled look. For a moment, she could swear his hand skimmed her upper arm, but when she looks at him, he doesn't seem to register the presence of anything unusual there. His eyes, however, start to lose their hazy, heated look, as if he came to his senses when she pulled away.

  
He rests his hands on her thighs. "We probably shouldn't. Ground rules."

  
The words jolt her back to reality. Byleth nods numbly, hopping off him, her face feeling hot with shame.

  
She sits at the edge of the bed, trying to steady her breathing. She stares at the ceiling, too humiliated to make eye contact with him. After a moment, he leans over and kisses her chastely on the shoulder. She stiffens at the touch.

  
Finally, she hears him roll over to his side of the bed.

  
Byleth curls her hands into the sheets, wondering what the hell is wrong with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else is frustrated by the end of this chapter? HAHAHAHA.
> 
> I already have most of the next (read: last) chapter written, but I wanted to get this up sooner rather than later since it's turning out to be so long. Also, I need more Claudeleth buddies. In exchange for friendship, I can write you gift fic. (Someone please be my friend.)
> 
> As always, comments are extremely appreciated and motivational.


	2. Bad Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Byleth and Claude realize there's a consequence for every action taken and not taken.

Byleth pretends to be asleep when Claude gets up in the morning. She waits until he shuts the bathroom door and turns on the shower before she allows herself to open her eyes. She gives herself a few moments to mentally berate herself for last night, before she gets out of bed. She immediately grabs her phone and goes out to the balcony. 

  
There's a short message of acknowledgement from the Church, but they give her the green-light to continue. When she opens the news, nothing except good things appear to be on the front pages about the prior evening's dinner. 

  
_So they kept it quiet. I wonder if Edelgard even knows someone died at her party yesterday._

  
She drops the phone on the wooden table beside the pool. It's a warm morning, slightly humid like the the day before. 

  
Byleth realizes she's still sticky in all the wrong places from fooling around last night. She stares at the pool and without dwelling on things further, strips off her clothes and slips in. She scrubs her skin perhaps a little too harshly, as if she can scrub the touch of his hands off her. She plunges her head below the surface, holding her breath to meditate in the deafening silence of being underwater for as long as she can. She pops back up with a gasp, gratefully accepting air into her lungs. Byleth pushes the dark hair out of her face and swims to the edge of the pool that faces the mountains, resting her crossed arms on the rim.

  
Part of her is angry at herself. Part of her is angry at him. 

  
_It's part of his job to be so desirable, I suppose,_ she thinks bitterly. _Everything about Claude is a distraction._ The cold water of the pool calms her down, sharpens her focus. 

  
She allows herself to float in the pool, buoyed by tranquility. She stares at the unblemished, morning sky. Like the water lapping at her skin, it has a calming effect on her. Finally, Byleth swims to the other side of the pool and pulls a large towel from the bottom of the stack. She lifts herself out of the pool and wraps it around herself, carefully covering the arm that has the knife strapped to it. She slides open the balcony door again, and steps inside. 

  
She already starts to formulate an idea for getting rid of Claude before she goes on the hunt tonight. She'll dismiss him as soon as they get back here from the wedding, before the after-party can start. She'll cite her discomfort about last night as an excuse not to spend another night with him. When he's gone, she can pull out the full array of her weapons and take down Thales without hindrance.

  
The door of the bathroom swings open, and they both look up at each other. 

  
Claude looks surprised. "Morning swim?"

  
She wants to not care, but it actually pisses her off that he hasn't mentioned anything about the night before. He did start it, after all.

  
Byleth levels him with an icy look, not even allowing her eyes to stray from his face. "Are you done with the shower?" 

  
"It's all yours, Teach." His voice is light and carefree.

  
She's never wanted to stab an innocent man this badly before. She storms across the room, yanking a plush bathrobe from the closet and closes the bathroom door behind her without even giving him another look.

* * *

  
She orders room service for breakfast, and besides asking him what he wants, she doesn't speak to him for the rest of the morning. 

  
If he notices her change in demeanor, he doesn't mention it nor does he seem affected by it. After a quiet breakfast, he picks up one of her books, flipping to a page he's bookmarked and keeps reading.

  
After she's done perusing the news, she changes into a simple day dress and slips on a pair of sneakers. 

  
Claude glances up. "Are we going somewhere?"

  
" _We_ aren't going anywhere. I'm going on a stroll, and I don't want company." She grabs her phone and key card and leaves him without another word.

  
Byleth spends most of the afternoon on reconnaissance. It's blissfully peaceful and familiar without Claude. She is able to focus, and better plan her route of attack. From hours studying old and new footage, she is able to discern how many guards she will need to take down in the hallway. Most of the guards are stationed in the hallway, but her guess is that there are about four to six stationed inside Thales' suite. There's a shift change every three hours, and if she times it correctly, she'll have a few less people to deal with. 

  
When she's out of things to mentally prepare for, Byleth returns to the room, but it's empty. She hooks the chain lock on the back of the hotel door to prevent staff or Claude from coming in and then takes the opportunity to prepare her outfit for the evening.

  
It's a flowing midnight-blue gown, with tiny pearls sewn into it to give it the appearance of the night sky. The color of the gown matches her hair and eyes. The bust features a plunging neckline, to attract attention to the bold statement necklace that is studded with diamonds reminiscent of the Fell Star constellation. The back of the dress glitters like a the tail of a comet and flutters like a train, so that it conceals the possibility of anyone noticing her gun. Byleth knows without trying it on that it will fit her perfectly. 

  
She starts the process of outfitting her gown with knives. When it's ready, she moves onto the weapons she'll need after the wedding. She'll be changing into her practical work clothes afterwards, and won't need to conceal much. She'll be frying the cameras in that hallway as well as disabling the elevators before she makes her move.

  
She loads her guns, twists on silencers, and adjusts the straps that will be going on her thighs and waist. Her utility belt is filled with smoke bombs, minor grenades, rope, and other useful tools. She puts it all back in the false bottom of her suitcase, and hangs the dress up in the bathroom.

  
By the time Claude returns to the suite, she's already undone the chain lock. She's stomach-first on the bed, reading one of the books from her car. It's about historical war tactics, and filled with dry language she finds she doesn't mind. When she spies him slipping in, she no longer feels any irritation. In fact, she's rather relieved to find that he feels just like any other civilian to her: inconsequential. The sooner he's out of her life, the better.

  
Claude sets down what looks like a cake box on the table. He glances over at her, looks back down at the box, but says nothing. 

  
Byleth flips the page, tucking a strand of hair out of her face. Claude sits down on the edge of the bed, facing her. She doesn't bite.

  
"Hey," he says, breaking the awkward silence. 

  
"Hi," she responds without looking up.

  
"So, about last night--"

  
Byleth slams the hardcover shut. "Don't."

  
"I'm sorry," he continues. "It was my mistake, and I'll own up to it."

  
Byleth glares at the book in her hands, wishing he'd shut his mouth. She can't tell if anything that comes out of him is ever genuine. 

  
"I don't know what you like, but I picked something up from the bakery nearby. It's yours if you want it."

  
_He's probably just trying to butter me up so I don't complain about him to his agency._ Byleth makes the mistake of looking at him. He looks sincere, with the barest hint of nervousness. _Probably just an act, like everything else he does._

  
"Thank you," she says, but doesn't mean it. She goes back to her book, and he leaves her alone. She doesn't touch the cake.

* * *

  
Byleth doesn't usually mind her work, but this is certainly the first time she can remember actually counting down the hours until she can put a bullet through someone's brain.

  
She gets ready earlier than she needs to, spending, by her normal standards, an excruciating amount of time on her make-up and hair. She applies dark blue eye-shadow that brings out her eyes, and dusts it with gold glitter. She uses a curling iron on her hair and uses a dozen pins that double as gouging needles to hold her elaborate up-do in place. When she's nearly ready to go, she slips on her dress. She looks good, there's no doubting it. However, the realization doesn't make her feel any differently and the static expression of her face reflects that. She could be a doll, or a tool. Something to be used.

  
She steps out of the bathroom, and slips on her heels. Claude watches her from across the room, eyes contemplative. She returns his gaze.

  
He looks amazing in his tuxedo, and his hair is styled rather neatly, although it still begs for someone to run their hands through it. When their eyes meet, his lips quirk up into a shallow smile. 

  
"If looks could kill," he says playfully.

  
Byleth smiles, but it's temperate. "I'll take that as a compliment."

  
"It is one."

* * *

  
The wedding spares no expense. The grounds of the venue are lush with fresh flowers that scent the air, mixing with the high-end perfumes and colognes of the rich and famous that are in attendance. Wine flows freely, and guests gleefully whisper about the divine taste of their beverages.

  
Hired musicians are in every corner of the castle, which used to stand as a palace of an empire from ancient times, now a historical landmark that sees millions of tourists a year. The entire thing is terribly suffocating for Byleth, but she knows it's only a matter of time before she can attend to her business so she endures.

  
In the meantime, she keeps a sharp eye out for Thales' people. She only spares surreptitious glances whenever she and Claude are drawn into conversation, so she can avoid tipping her escort off with her wandering eyes. This time, it's not nearly as easy. Throngs of people move around the palace in random patterns, and there's security in every nook and cranny of the building. 

  
She nearly gives up until she spots him, in the flesh, during the wedding feast. It's from across the hall that she notices him. She's only ever seen his appearance in grainy photos, taken from too far away. In person, he's a large man with a shock of white hair and a precisely-trimmed bread. He's seated so close to Edelgard's family circle that Byleth cannot help but stare. She needs to contact the Church about this.

  
_Thales' is closer to her than I realized, than any of us realized. How could this be?_

  
Claude follows her gaze toward that general direction, but doesn't say anything. 

  
Their supper is a ridiculous multi-course meal with portions befitting birds, and Byleth tries to wait things out but the end never appears to be in sight.

  
"I need to use the restroom," she says to him after yet another platter of steak is set on their table. When Byleth reaches a private powder room, she locks the door and immediately contacts the Church. They respond back in moments. 

  
_We will look into this immediately. Execute as planned._

  
Byleth returns to her seat quickly. Thales appears to be enjoying himself, surrounded by Edelgard's highest-ranking contacts. She wishes it were possible to listen in on their conversations, but she's not here to eavesdrop. That kind of work is better suited to the Church's technical team. Different tools for different needs.

  
She spends her time being careful about her attention on Thales' and makes polite conversation with her dinner guests, and to some degree, puts on an affectionate act with Claude.

  
After the meal, all the guests are directed toward the palace gardens. An ornate gazebo is constructed in the center, big enough to house hundreds of people, although not nearly enough to hold all the guests. It's covered in lace and twined with plants, shipped over from all over the world. Musicians start to play, and Edelgard is led to the dance floor by her newlywed.

  
The bride's pale face is rapt, but Byleth cannot tell if there is any warmth or love in the way she looks at her partner, at least not from this distance. She supposes it's just as likely that this marriage is one of financial convenience. It's also possible the heiress holds her feelings close to her chest, much like Byleth herself. She cannot conceive of being a blushing bride.

  
After the couple's first few dances, close family and friends start to pair up on the dance floor underneath the pavilion. Thales is nowhere to be seen, however. 

  
"May I have this dance?" Claude says into the shell of her ear. Byleth's eyes dart to him, and he's wearing a coy smirk that feels far too friendly for her liking. Claude extends his hand to her.

  
She obliges and they glide onto the dance floor. He holds her closer than she's comfortable with, but it matches the proximity of the other couples on the dance floor. So many people around her look utterly enamored with their partners. Through the music, she can hear snatches of sighs and sweet nothings being murmured. It's not a world she's used to, and she'll always be a stranger, staring in from the outside. She mimics one of the dancers next to them, resting the side of her face against Claude's chest as the song slows into a romantic waltz.

  
This close, she can smell him and hear the steady beat of his heart. Her eyes briefly flutter closed, appreciating the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat against the cacophony that surrounds them. Claude's hand at her waist rises to her face, brushing a lock of hair and tucking it neatly behind her ear.

  
She doesn't want to look at the expression he's making, but she's tempted. 

  
He rests his hand against her waist again, and for a moment she feels his fingers curl a little more tightly around her. They continue to sway to the music. Byleth does not attempt conversation with him, although she knows she should try, to look the part, at least. She's simply too drained from the wild rush of emotions from this morning. Anger and embarrassment like a white hot flame in her chest, burning itself out and leaving nothing but ash and dust.

* * *

  
Byleth gratefully removes her heels, throwing them into the corner of her hotel suite. The wedding ran long of course, and the after party is due to start soon, drawing many of the guests out of the hotel. It will be the perfect time to strike. Her mind is already mapping out her kill route, but first she needs to shake off her vexing escort.

  
Byleth removes her necklace, laying it on the nightstand where it reflects the lamplight back at her. "I won't be attending the after party after all, so you're free to go." 

  
Claude undoes the bow tie on his tuxedo, loosening his collar to expose the dark column of his neck. When they first met, he was clean-shaven but now a little stubble is growing in around his jaw. "Dismissing me already? It's a little early, isn't it? I'm paid for through the night." He effortlessly slips off the jacket and starts to roll his sleeves up, presumably to get more comfortable.

  
Byleth's jaw tenses. "About that," she attempts to sound flustered, "I'd hate to have a repeat of last night, so I think it's best if you leave now."

  
Claude raises an eyebrow at her, his lips quirking into a smirk. "What if I promise to be good? Will that change anything?"

  
_Don't make me kill you,_ Byleth thinks savagely. She keeps her mouth closed, and simply shakes her head.

  
Claude's eyes flick to the floor and he appears to acquiesce. "Well, a man's got to know when he's no longer wanted. I suppose I'll go then." Claude starts toward his bag, picking up a few items around the room that he's left laying around. 

  
Byleth relaxes as he starts to collect his things. She'd been worried that it would take more to get him out of here. She leaves him to his packing and goes into the bathroom, leaving the door open so she can keep an eye on him. She frees her hair, letting the woven waves flounce against her skin. Although she wants to strip off her dress and get into her fatigues, she refrains for the time being. Instead, Byleth starts to strip off her make-up with an expert hand.

  
A few minutes later, while she's washing her face, she hears Claude approach her from the door of the bathroom. 

  
"Some privacy would be appreciated, Claude." Frowning, she pats dry her wet face, skin feeling light and clean. She watches him closely using the mirror in front of her.

  
Claude smiles, cocking his head slightly to contemplate her. "I've got my things. Just wanted to say goodbye."

  
"That's surprisingly sentimental of you," she replies mildly.

  
He closes the distance between them with a coy smile. "And how would you know?"

  
Byleth regards him coolly as he takes a curl of her hair and wraps it around a finger. He's close enough to kiss her now, if he wants to. His lips descend to her ear.

  
"Are you a religious person, Byleth?" 

  
She allows herself a brief moment of bewilderment at his question. She suppresses a shiver as his lips graze her cheek. "What--"

  
"Since you're a Church girl." There's a sudden prickling sensation in her leg. Byleth's eyes dart down, and she shoves him back with a gasp. 

  
Taken aback by her strength, Claude stumbles back before falling hard onto the floor.

  
Byleth yanks a tranquilizer dart of her leg. Her breathing is coming in short pants, and her fingers shake as she stares at it. The syringe is already empty, its contents swirling in her veins. "Who the fuck are you?" she demands.

  
Claude has already risen nimbly back on his feet. His eyes are dark with a dangerous confidence she's never seen in him before. He twirls another another dart in his fingers, as if he's still deciding whether someone like her will need a double dose. "Could ask the same thing of you, Teach," he replies.

  
Byleth blinks rapidly, the edges of her vision starting to curl like the corners of a burning photograph. She leans back against the sink, hoping it can keep her steady, but the room already feels like it's sliding.

  
Claude pulls out a silver pistol, but slowly. Byleth immediately retrieves the knife on her thigh and throws. Despite her state, her aim is good and it neatly and deeply slices him along the arm as he ducks. 

  
Green eyes widen and Claude really does look like he might use the second dart on her. "Relax, I'm not here to kill _you_."

  
Byleth fumbles for another knife, clasping it tightly in fingers that feel too sweaty. With a groan, she collapses to the floor, sinking to her knees hard. Her vision is quickly blurring. The knife clatters to the floor harmlessly and she slumps forward, batting her eyes desperately to keep them open.

  
Claude kneels beside her, the gun hanging loosely from his hand. There's an emblem on it that she recognizes instantly, and she feels like a fool.

  
_Of course. Of course, you're a Barbarossa._

  
"No hard feelings, Teach." 

  
And then everything is darkness.

* * *

  
Byleth wakes on the floor of the bathroom with a violent jolt of consciousness. Her eyes flare open, and she coughs, taking in a huge gasp of air to fill her hungry lungs. She's lying face-first on the tiles. The knife she dropped is still in the same place, as well as the bloodstained one that injured Claude.

  
_If that's even his real fucking name._

  
Byleth struggles onto her hands and knees, limbs as though they're moving through syrup. Her body is still heavy with the drug, but she forces herself to stumble out of the bathroom. She needs to contact the Church. She's been made, not by her target, but by someone else. Another professional.

  
She fumbles to unlock the phone and transmits her message with shaking hands.

  
_Barbarossa here. Mission compromised._

  
She's been out for two hours. She pulls up the video feed, but her hands tighten around the phone she sees all her bugs and cameras have been disabled. He's after her target. Over her dead body. With a growl, Byleth gets to her feet and goes to her suitcase. She sloppily removes her dress, squirming out of it and kicking it away. She yanks her fatigues on, trembling fingers clipping her utility belt around her and strapping her guns and knives into place. Byleth takes a deep breath, trying to clear her head. She's still under the influence of the drug, but it's starting to fade quickly as her old instincts take over.

  
Byleth needs to kill a man.

* * *

  
Claude has made mistakes before. He's never made a mistake so big that it got him killed obviously, but today, he might have. He endures another punch to the face, and spits the blood out of his mouth. There are open gashes on on both cheeks from the metal knuckles they're using to beat him, and strands of his hair are sticking to them.

  
He's starting to feel the blood loss from the gaping wound on his chest where he got stabbed trying to line a head shot on Thales. Another one of Thales' thugs is trying to crack the pass codes that lock his phone and keep his communications with headquarters secret. 

  
Thales raises a hand and the man pummeling him steps back obediently. "Let me ask this again," Thales tells him patiently, pacing the suite. "Who sent you?"

  
Claude looks him in the eye, and slowly smiles. 

  
"Your arrogance will be the end of you," Thales reminds him without expression. Thales gestures to man again, and Claude braces himself for another gut-wrenching punch. 

  
When it makes contact, the air leaves his lungs and he sags into the chair he's tied to. They're going slow. They know he's acting alone, with no back-up from his guild, and they'll be taking their sweet time before they kill him to squeeze information out of him. Claude would rather die from the blood loss, honestly. 

  
The person with Claude's phone eventually looks up at Thales and minutely shakes their head. Thales swings back to him, frustration evident on his face. 

  
It's then that they all hear it. 

  
Muted thuds coming from the hallway. Eight of them, to be precise. Eight bodies falling to the floor, one right after the other.

  
Claude's eyes flash to the suite's doors, wide. The hallway is quiet. Everyone in the room readies their weapons. Thales' bodyguards all move into position in front of him, with one approaching the door. Claude struggles against his bindings, but he know it's futile. They've tied it in a way he can't slip out even if he breaks both thumbs.

  
The door swings inward on silent hinges. Beyond it, they can see the hallway. It's empty.

  
"Well, what are you waiting for!" Thales snaps at his lackey.

  
The bodyguard closest to the door lifts their gun and stalks tentatively into the hallway, looking first right then left. Their body language is apprehensive, but also confused. Before Claude can blink, there's a burst of blood and the bodyguard in the hall slumps dead to the ground. 

  
Thales jerks a chin at the bodyguards circling him. Two of them slowly break off, guns aimed at the doors.

  
Before they can reach it, she appears. As quiet and deadly as a storm. She's dressed in a form-fitting black shirt, and black pants. Two guns strapped to her thighs, and knives of all kinds shine and catch the light. She looks nothing like the woman he left upstairs.

  
Knives catch in their throats, and two guns clatter to the floor before the bodies do. Without even blinking, Byleth pulls a gun out of its holster and fires, one bullet for each heart surrounding Thales. Multiple bodies collapse to the floor, and the pool of blood grows so rapidly that it eventually reaches the tips of Claude's shoes.

  
Byleth steps into the room, gun raised and her eyes never leaving Thales. Her face is a cold, iron mask, eyes dead like the bodies surrounding them all.

  
Thales looks furious, gripping one hand like a vise on the single, sole bodyguard left standing in front of him. The only one who was able to avoid getting shot in the heart. The bodyguard suspects that it to be luck, but Claude knows it there's no such thing as luck in the face of a shot like hers.

  
"You--" Thales starts, but Byleth moves too quickly. Soundlessly, she crosses the room. There's an effortless press of her gun to the heart of the bodyguard. Before they can even register her presence, and she fires.

  
Blood and gore spray across her face, and Thales screams and stumbles back, covered in what used to be his last man standing.

  
Even from halfway across the room, Claude's face gets flecked in blood. But he's used to it. Claude's heart is beating a mile a minute. He has never seen anyone move like that. He's never seen someone this good. 

  
_Holy shit. She's the Demon. She's the Church's Demon._

  
"Let this be a lesson to you," she says, and Claude feels himself go cold even though the words aren't directed at him.

  
Thales is overtly shaking now, raising his hand in supplication. "Whatever you want--"

  
Claude watches in fascination as a smile curves along Byleth's lips. Her eyes are frigid and unsmiling. She fires twice into Thales' skull.

  
Claude closes his eyes as Thales' final shriek is cut off, dying in his throat. There's a wet thud as the body falls to the floor. Claude opens his eyes, staring at Byleth, but she still hasn't acknowledged him. She bends down to the floor, her fingers going to Thales' throat. Satisfied, she stands up and holsters her gun. 

  
That's when she finally looks at him. Her face is speckled in blood, so red and fresh that it makes her dark blue eyes appear as though they are an entirely different color. She's beautiful, in the deadliest way imaginable.

  
Claude gazes back her, his silver tongue failing him utterly at this moment.

  
Byleth strides over to him. She stops two paces from him, her sturdy black boots silent in the puddle of blood beneath them. She slowly tilts her head to look at him, and she smiles.

  
_She smiles._

  
"You left me quite a mess to clean up."

  
Claude looks up at her wordlessly.

  
"When did you know?" Byleth asks.

  
Claude chuckles, breaking into a grin despite himself. "Last night," his eyes darkening at the heady memory of it, "in bed."

  
"The knife," she says.

  
Claude wants to shrug, but his body feels too much like a pulpy mess to allow it. "Knife was the nail in the coffin, but I suspected something was strange about you the moment I met you, Teach. Didn't know you were the Demon though." Suffice to say, he would not have even attempted nearly half the things he did with her if he'd known.

  
Byleth looks at him, chin lifting imperceptibly.

  
It occurs to Claude then that Byleth could pin all this bloodshed on him, just by leaving him at the scene of the crime. Sure, he put down about about seven of them himself before he got caught but she definitely takes the cake on kill count. It's not like there's some kind of code of honor between different assassin factions.

  
Her eyes flick to his chest, the stark red of his blood completely soaking the pristine whiteness of his shirt.

  
"Like what you see?" he musters cheekily.

  
"You're going to bleed out," she deadpans. 

  
Byleth pulls out a knife, and Claude tenses. He'd rather just bleed out, and not become another one of the Demon's victims. She steps behind him and slices through his binds. 

  
"Come on," she says, lifting him up. Claude sways as what little blood in his body rushes to his feet and recently unbound hands. He feels dangerously faint, and part of him wonders if this rescue is even real. 

  
Claude passes out in her arms before long.

* * *

  
When he comes to, he's in what looks like a cabin. He winces trying to raise his head. It's throbbing and burns like hell where he's been punched across the face. He slowly turns his bruised face, taking in the room.

  
It's a bare, mostly unfurnished cabin, and he's lying in the only bed on it, which is too small for his body. There's a fire crackling in the hearth. A mess of bloodied rags, antiseptic and bandages are strewn across the table on the far side. He's alone. Claude attempts to sit up, but when he does, he can feel the stitches in his chest start to burst open so he immediately stills. He peels back a thin, cotton shirt and sees a line of hand-sewn sutures patching up his stab wound. It's definitely not the nicest job, but it's kept him alive and for that he's grateful.

  
After what feels like hours, the door creaks open and Byleth walks in with a couple of protein bars and a bottle of water. Her eyes slide to him, but they don't seem surprised he's awake. 

  
"You didn't have to," he says.

  
Byleth sets the bottle down next to him. "Here." She produces his phone out of her pocket, and he's never in his life been so relieved to see a piece of technology before.

  
"Did you..." He holds the phone up, staring at the lock screen. It's still set to the image of her face, gazing down at their interwoven hands. He suppresses a smile.

  
"I tried."

  
Claude breaks into a grin. "That's a relief."

  
Byleth rips open one of the protein bars. "It would have been easier if you'd just told me. Your people probably think you're dead now."

  
"Wouldn't be the first time," he replies airily, to which she snorts.

  
"You make a habit of almost dying?"

  
"Not until I met you." He watches her expression curiously, but she's remarkably good at keeping her expression blank. "Where are we?"

  
"A Church safe house. There's no electricity or running water here, but it's the best place to lay low. I'm sure whatever organization Thales works for is out hunting us."

  
Claude unlocks his phone, and sends an encrypted message to home base about his condition, the mission, and unfortunately, that a Church assassin is with him.

  
"I've already told the Church about you." Byleth finishes the protein bar and balls up the wrapper before throwing it on the table. 

  
Claude raises an eyebrow at her. "And?"

  
"They're wondering how a Barbarossa got through the vetting process for one the agencies we use." Byleth looks particularly grumpy when she says it.

  
"The Church isn't the only organization out there with a good technical team."

  
"Why did they place you on the Monastery roster?"

  
Claude shrugs. "I was the best person for the job. We needed a way into the wedding. They figured some poor soul out there with an invitation wouldn't have a date." His eyes twinkle in amusement. "I guess they were right about that."

  
Byleth glares. She cannot believe she almost slept with him. She places the protein bar next to his pillow. "You should eat. I'm awaiting orders from the Church, and then I'll be on my way."

  
He grabs her hand before she can step away. "Thank you, Byleth."

* * *

  
Byleth has to make more trips to get food and water over a few days hiding in the safe house. Her communications from the Church are slow to come. 

  
After she completed her mission, Byleth notified the Church only to be told that they'd been attacked and to await further orders. She's never seen them this disorganized. Updates are few and far between. She hopes her colleagues survived. One day, she finally gets her answers.

  
_Ambush organized by Black Eage Strike Force. Barbarossas were also struck. Alliance with Barbarossa has been agreed upon. Your orders: Stay with your Barbarossa and end the Black Eagles._

  
Claude ends up receiving the same message, minutes later. They stare at each other in disbelief.

* * *

  
"You didn't have to do that," Byleth says, the set of her jaw tense as she wraps his arm tightly with a torn strip of her shirt. "It was reckless."

  
Claude winces as she knots the fabric against the wound, staunching the flow of blood. "Do I get points for bravery?" 

  
"Absolutely not." When she's done with the wound, she pulls him up. "Let's go."

  
Behind them, a dozen bodies litter of the floor of a base they'd infiltrated. They both know reinforcements are on the way. They make it to the escape vehicle before either of them say another word. 

  
"Next time, let me handle it," Byleth says tersely. "I can take care of myself."

  
"I know that." Claude tilts his head, watching her with a veiled smile. "I wanted to."

  
"You wanted to get _shot_?" 

  
The smile slips from his face. "Not that part. The saving you part."

  
Byleth steps on the gas, keeping her eyes on the dark road ahead. The trees disappear behind them as they reach the nearest highway. "I didn't need saving. I would have survived that."

  
"It was going to hit you in the stomach. Surgery isn't my strong suit, Byleth."

  
Byleth goes quiet. He has a point. Still, now she has to see to his completely unnecessary arm wound once they reach their new safe house. It used to be easier to work alone, but after she's adjusted her methods to accommodate for Claude being part of her unit, the results have spoken for themselves. The Church and the Barbarossa jointly dispatch them on their most dangerous missions. They receive their briefings remotely, what with both guilds being too unstable to maintain a physical presence.

  
When they arrive at the safe house, an empty house they've been using for the past few weeks, Byleth orders him to take off his shirt.

  
Claude grins as soon as the words leave her mouth. "Of course, Teach. Whatever you want." He pulls off his blood-stained shirt with his one good arm, dropping to the bathroom tiling. She kicks it out of the way, and motions for him to sit down on the edge of the tub so she can inspect the wound.

  
"Could you not flirt with me for one second?" she grumbles, using tweezers to peel away any gunk left in the open cut. 

  
"We've been stuck together for months. Who else am I going to flirt with?"

  
Byleth ignores him. The wound is thankfully shallow, but will need to be cleaned regularly, and depending on how quickly it can heal, may need a stitch or two. She gently washes it clean and then levers antiseptic on the wound. Claude hisses, his arm tightening in her grip.

  
"Relax," she reminds him, using a clean towel to soak up the excess liquid and blood. 

  
"Why you gotta be so rough with me, Teach?" 

  
She tears off a roll of bandages and begins to wrap it, closing it around his skin as tight as it can go. "Because you can handle it." 

  
That shuts up Claude mid-whine. 

  
Byleth gets up and disposes of the trash, glancing at him over shoulder. "We're finished."

  
She enters the bedroom, dropping all her weapons on the nightstand. She grabs a pair of pajamas from the closet and starts to shove some of her junk off the bed. After she's done in there, she finds him drinking a glass of water in the kitchen, both shirtless and barefoot. He senses her presence and half-turns curiously, still finishing his drink. She watches the way his throat moves a moment, before darting her eyes back to his. "You can have the bed tonight. I can take the couch."

  
Claude raises his eyebrow and turns to face her. Byleth has to remind herself not to stare. He's still hot, after all. Tall, handsome, muscular, broad-shouldered, smart, and deadly: just her type. 

  
"Last time I got shot, you didn't offer to switch with me." He looks like he wants to cross his arms, but with the wound, he seems to think better of it.

  
"You were wearing a bullet-proof vest that time and it didn't even touch your skin."

  
Claude looks at the pajama set in her hand. "Couch isn't super comfortable, Teach."

  
"We've both slept on floors before. It's nothing new."

  
"I said it's not comfortable, not that it's new. Is this because I took a bullet for you?" He suddenly leans forward, a smirk dashing across his face.

  
Byleth's grip tightens on her clothes. "Just take the damn bed, Claude." She turns on her heel, toward the couch that's piled high with books, vials of poison, and an assortment of men's clothing. 

  
"It's a big bed."

  
Byleth freezes mid-sweep, one of his books tilting just enough to slip to the floor with a crash. She turns around and glares over her shoulder at him. 

  
He's smiling. 

  
She dares him to say it again. "What?" 

  
"It's a big bed, Byleth. Why don't we share it?"

  
Byleth turns back to the couch, rapidly moving the books off the couch and to the floor. "Like that went so well last time," she mutters to herself, feeling her face warm with embarrassment.

  
"Alright, suit yourself." She doesn't need to see the shrug to hear it. He quietly disappears into the bedroom down the hall, but notices that he doesn't shut the door.

  
_Tease_ , she thinks darkly.

  
She moves the vials of poison to a table. She doesn't even know why or how he can possibly sleep so close to something that could kill him. Stifling a yawn, she changes swiftly into her pajamas. They'd stayed up for two nights just to hit that base. 

  
Byleth curls up onto the couch, turning to find a good position to sleep in.

  
_He's right. This is not comfortable. He's never complained about it before though._

  
Regardless, Byleth shuts her eyes. She'll make it work.

  
Hours later, she awakens with a terrible cramp in her neck. Her eyes open in the dark, and her hand massages the ache with a growing irritation. She's been spoiled rotten with that bed. She sits up, cracking her neck to give it more motion. 

* * *

  
"Move over."

  
Claude blearily opens his eyes. There's a threatening figure looming at the side of the bed, and she looks petulant.

  
"Look who decided to join me," he laughs, his voice deep and wispy with sleep. 

  
Byleth makes an impatient gesture with her arm. "Move over, Claude." 

  
His eyes slip shut, with a stupid smile plastered to his face. She whacks him in the head with a pillow.

  
"Ouch, give me a break! I'm injured!" Claude yanks the pillow off his face. His hair is wild, half of it in his eyes.

  
"That's your own damn fault."

  
He finally scoots over, but not nearly enough. It's a big bed and he's smack-dab in the middle of it. Byleth begrudgingly slips under the covers, turning so that her back faces him. She shuts her eyes. She'll stab him with her knife if he so much as breathes on her.

  
Byleth awakens naturally before dawn. The room is lit in cool blue tones of the rapidly warming sky outside. Her eyes feel uncharacteristically heavy with sleep. 

  
_This is what happens when you spend two whole nights casing a base, I guess._

  
She moves to stretch and instantly retracts her arm when she feels something warm against her skin. Byleth's eyes flick to the side, and Claude's half-lidded eyes are already looking at her.

  
A lazy, feral grin spreads upon his lips. "Morning, Teach."

  
His eyes drink her in with such thirst that she feels her body grow warm. She clears her throat, moving to pull off the comforter and escape, but he pulls her back in by the wrist. She could shake him off, but she doesn't and she's not entirely sure why. "Can you stay?" he asks her quietly, his voice soft and needy.

  
"Why?" she responds, and it comes out like croak.

  
"Isn't it obvious? Because I want you."

  
Byleth stills. 

  
"I think you want me too," he says, running a hand up her bare leg under the covers. She shudders, a hand fisting into the sheets. He brings a hand to her face, gently tilting her chin to look at him. 

  
And the thing is, he's right. She really does.

  
But it's stupid to. 

  
She kisses him anyway. As soon as she does, he pulls her down on top of him. She can already feel his erection against her leg. She reflexively starts to grind herself against it, eliciting a moan of pleasure from his mouth. She swallows it greedily with her own, kissing him deep and hard.

  
His hands give her ass a good squeeze before they travel up her sides, palming her abs and her breasts. He starts to rub his thumbs against the hard peaks of her breasts. The callouses are rough against her sensitive skin, and it feel so good she bites her lip to hold down a whine. 

  
One of his hands starts to move away, and she grabs it, breaking from the kiss. "Don't you dare stop."

  
Claude smiles into her neck then, kissing and nipping while he plays with her. Byleth holds back another moan, grinding against him with such force she can't believe they still have their clothes on. She shucks off her pajama shirt, exposing her breasts, and Claude's face drops back into the pillow to admire the view. Byleth's hand starts to work on the knife strapped to her arm, but Claude stays it. 

  
Byleth smiles and leans down to kiss him, her hands making quick work of the simple tie on the waistband of his pants. She deliberately drags her breasts against his bare chest as she pulls his pants down and off him. He's not wearing underwear. His excitement for her is clear. Byleth wonders how long he's been planning this. He bites his lip to hide a smirk, green eyes tracking her until she comes back up to kiss him. Claude's fingertips dip into her panties, and Byleth's breath catches in her mouth. He starts to stroke her, and she can't help but arch into his fingers.

  
She is desperately wet. With great effort, she pushes herself off him and sheds her shorts and underwear. His hand goes back to its previous ministrations. In fact, he moves even faster, as if he's suddenly become impatient, and she moans against him. "Are you going to keep me waiting forever?" she manages, her breathing coming in ragged gasps.

  
His eyes darken and his hands move to grip her hips, angling her just right above him. "Didn't take you for such an impatient lover, Byleth."

  
Byleth sinks onto him before he can open his pretty little mouth again. He throws his head back, moaning her name. Her blood boils with yearning. She rides him hard, enjoying the feeling of him inside her. Her fingers tangle in his hair. She's been waiting forever to do this.

  
Claude holds her tight and close, expletives in a language she doesn't understand tumbling out of his mouth. The pupils in his eyes have dilated into huge black pools, nearly crowding out the bright green of his irises. She can tell by the tension in his arms and legs that he's close.

  
She decides to torture him, playfully toying with her own nipples while he watches. He jerks beneath her, panting.

  
"Byleth, you fucking tease." His voice is broken and raspy with desire.

  
With a small laugh, she rides him faster, sweat dripping down her brow and into her hair. He shifts the angle of her on him and she gasps his name as it sends a jolt of pleasure up her spine. Claude begins to rock into her, taking control of their rhythm. Her fingers loosen from his hair and start clutching the sheets beneath her for purchase.

  
The burst of pleasure arrives suddenly, and Byleth throws her head back with a cry. Her hands scramble to hold him by the waist and she feels a thrill as his body begins to quake. He finishes with a moan of her name into the still, morning air.

  
She slumps into the bed beside him, a sweet and sticky mess. Her hand affectionately trails down his sweat-slicked face, gently grazing his kiss-swollen bottom lip. Byleth realizes rather belatedly that there's a huge kiss-bitten bruise on his neck. She hardly remembers giving it to him. 

  
He looks at her, the green of his eyes clear and full of wild happiness. He takes her hand and kisses it. 

  
"Should we set some new ground rules?" Claude chuckles. "We just broke the old ones. Pretty much all the old ones."

  
Byleth curls into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "Do we really need more rules?" 

  
Claude wraps her with his good arm, kissing her atop the head. "You're right. Maybe we don't." Outside, the morning glows with a rosy, new dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND NOW THEY'RE A KILLER COUPLE Y'ALL. As always, comments are very appreciated and motivational.
> 
> EDIT: I heard you wanted a sequel? What about a trilogy? Check out my announcement on the Assassins series: twitter(dot)com/deleiterious/status/1360390288926068736


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